His word was "if..."
always lingering on his tongue
within those sentences
of bristle and moss;
Explanations of overgrowth, forest
paragraphs and tinge of darkness
moon over "maybe"s,
cloak the soft "perhaps"...
"If you..." he whispers
bed linens wrinkled, new soil
lamp burned out
wolf howl, he stirs
Cloaks his words in
moss and gossamer that never
give wild things
notice of failed decisions.
-Joy- |
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